Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return
by kenansense
Summary: His Dark Materials crossover. Ginny's dead. Voldemort escaped. Now Harry wakes up in a strange world with no one and nothing but himself for company. At least that's what he thinks...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters in this story. Those are owned by J. K. "Tha Blingmeister" Rowling.

**A/N**- Okay, I know this story has been reposted countless times and that you guys are probably sick of it by now. But I promise this is the final time, and that this prologue is (hopefully) worth it.

As Philip Pullman said, the best authors are like magpies, borrowing ideas from almost every single other form of literature in order to write the best story possible. On this site, obviously, that's what everybody is doing, but I'd like to say that the dialogue (and only some of the dialogue) came from the ending to the Super Nintendo video game Lufia II: Rise of the Sinistrals. I first took it as a sort of challenge to use the dialogue and write an HP story from it, but that evolved and evolved into the Prologue you now see before you, which I thought was the best possible way to begin the story. For any of you waiting for the HDM crossover, it'll come soon, I promise.

Finally, I'm sure a lot of you want to know, so the ships in this story will be as follows:

Harry/Ginny

Ron/Hermione

Will/Lyra (obviously)

If there's any more that I missed, I'll go back and stick them in, but I think this is it. All of those are the canon ships, so they are definitely the most realistic, and any others would turn this into an AU story. Well, that's all, enjoy!

-KaiserMonkey

- - - -

**Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return**

Prologue – The Only Way Out

It was dark.

That was the first thing that Harry Potter noticed about the structure that he was currently in. The darkness overwhelmed him, folding over and over within him so that it overcame every facet of him and he _became_ the darkness, and the very air was tainted with something inexplicably evil.

In Harry's mind, he could still see one of his closest friends, Remus Lupin, leaping in front of him and taking a Cruciatus Curse meant for him, giving Harry time to stun its caster, none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. Unfortunately, Fenrir Greyback had been lurking nearby, and Lupin's act of sacrifice gave Greyback the opening he needed to cast a Killing Curse at Harry's surrogate father, ending Lupin's life instantly.

Harry shook the thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to mourn for the lost. There would be plenty of time after the battle. "Is everyone okay?" he asked the friends surrounding him, gasping for breath after the effort he had put into their final run into the shrine where Harry now stood.

"Yeah, I'm fine," came the voice of his best friend, Ronald Weasley, from his left side, although Harry could see nothing save the horrible darkness that engulfed everything around him.

"Me, too," came the voice of Hermione Granger, his other best friend, and Harry could tell that she was shaking with fear. "I'm alright too."

"We finally got here, huh?" asked Ron rhetorically.

"Is this the Shrine of Voldemort?" asked Harry, straining to see anything around him—the darkness did not yield.

"It's so dark..." whispered Hermione, her voice trailing off as she, too, tried to see through the darkness, to no avail.

"I feel the energy," said Harry slowly, the very _wrongness_ of the place that he now stood in unable to deny.

There was a pause, after which Ron added, "Evil energy. Watch out. It's pretty strong!"

"Everyone, _Lumos _on three," said Harry quietly, taking control. "One, two..."

"_Lumos_," whispered three voices at once, and all of a sudden the darkness immediately surrounding the three friends was dispelled by the light charm.

"So this is the Shrine of Voldemort," said Harry, looking at what little of the shrine that he could see. To his left and right were stone walls—the place seemed to have been built of the same materials of Hogwarts, although with none of the good intentions. Ahead of him, at a point which Harry had to strain his eyes to see, the walls around them spread further out—they must have currently been in an entryway, being that they had only just made their way into the building.

Harry felt Hermione shiver next to him. "It's so cold," she said, her voice shaking as though to intensify her point. "It's so cold it chills my heart."

A sudden voice came from above, echoing through the shrine and striking fear into the hearts of each of the threesome. "You have made it to my ssshrine at last..."

Harry looked around warily. "Voldemort? Voldemort? Is that you? Show yourself!" he shouted, wand drawn and ready, voice disciplined and prepared for a battle.

"Come!" shouted Voldemort, as though they were playing a game. "Come before me. I am right above you."

Harry stood still for several moments before finally moving forward, his lit wand lighting the way ahead of him. After a brief instant, he was joined by Ron and Hermione, one at each side, flanking him faithfully. Together they made their way through the mysterious shrine very slowly, on constant lookout for Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters. The hallway that they walked through seemed endless, but finally it narrowed greatly and led to a set of stairs, twisting ominous above them and leading to the next floor. "I'll go first," said Harry determinedly. "Keep a lookout for any Death Eaters—shout if you see anything." And with that, Harry held his wand in front of him and cautiously walked up the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. As soon as Harry had ascended the first few steps, Ron followed him, imitating his friend as best as possible. The staircase wound its way in a circle twice before finally leveling out and depositing the three friends on another floor of the shrine.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione continued to walk forward, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone floor. Everywhere around him was the darkness, darkness so great that it seemed almost as if he was surrounded by dementors...

Harry stopped abruptly, Ron almost walking into him before taking Harry's hint and looking around, frightened. "What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione, who had come to a stop behind Ron. "Did you see something?"

"I thought I heard a noise," replied Harry, his hands shaking. Could it be a Death Eater? Harry was sure that he had heard something—and there it was again! This time Ron and Hermione heard too, and both drew their wands, pointing them in the general direction from which the noise came.

"That—that sounded like a squeak," said Ron uncertainly. "Could it be—"

"Pettigrew," said Harry flatly, and was about to command the Animagus to show himself when suddenly something ran into Harry's feet, and he looked down to see not the fully clad Death Eater he expected, but instead a fairly common brown mouse. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"What—_what the bloody hell was that, Harry?_" asked his best friend, apparently seeing the mouse too, although not as well as Harry had.

"Just a mouse, mate," said Harry, and for a moment Ron's countenance, illuminated in the glow of the wand lights, broke into a smile.

"Not—not Pettigrew, then?" asked Ron, and Harry nodded reassuringly.

"No. Nothing dangerous," said Harry to his friend, trying desperately to keep his voice calm. "No Death Eaters."

The three friends quieted eventually, and Harry resumed his trek forward and deeper into the shrine, his friends following behind him. The three separate _Lumos_ spells provided barely enough light to see by, even combined, and so it was with a great deal of paranoia that the Golden Trio continued on their way to defeat Voldemot and rid the world of darkness.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had barely walked forward ten feet before there was a sudden bang and the three were strung up by their ankles. Harry tried fruitlessly to free himself from the _Levicorpus_ hex, but didn't get the countercurse off in time, as there was a loud, "_Expelliarmus!_" and Harry's wand flew out of his hand and into the hand of a masked Death Eater, who pocketed it and did the same to Ron and Hermione.

Finally the Death Eater waved his or her wand again, and Harry felt himself fly into the wall behind him, staying frozen to it in a manner that, ironically, Harry found very similar to the way Dumbledore had hidden him that night on the Astronomy Tower.

And then the Death Eater removed his mask, and Harry felt himself almost angry enough to perform the Killing Curse. It was Peter Pettigrew.

"H—Hello, Harry," said the rat quietly, voice shaking, and Harry felt the rage within him rise to a boiling point. Pettigrew raised his wand and wandlessly cast a Silencing Charm, so Harry's string of extreme vulgarities went unheard by the Death Eater, although he caught the gist of it judging by his incensed look.

"My Master will be very pleased," said Pettigrew, a sadistic tone creeping into his pathetic voice. "To have brought him not only the Boy-Who-Lived, but also his two best friends—"

He was interrupted as Harry suddenly found himself able to speak and let loose on the bald man. "You _bastard_, you fucking _bastard_, how could you, how could you serve Voldemort, the little half-blooded wanker? My parents trusted you, and you betrayed them, and now you betrayed me...I saved your goddamn life, and this is how you repay me? I swear I'll—"

But what Harry would do next went unsaid, because a furious look swept over Pettigrew's face and he waved his wand again, replacing the silencing charm on the Boy-Who-Lived. Pettigrew began to pace, resuming his speech as though he had not been interrupted.

"As I was saying, I am certain my master will be incredibly pleased that I have brought you three to him, Harry, Ron, Hermione. The prophecy will be ridiculously easy to fulfill with you tied up and lying on the ground."

Although Harry could only move his body from the neck up, Pettigrew must have caught Harry's surprised expression, however, because he shivered slightly before continuing, "Oh yes, we know the prophecy. Are you surprised, Harry? We extracted it from the memories of Professor Trelawney after kidnapping her last winter. I bet you didn't even notice she was gone, did you?" asked Pettigrew, sounding, in a very sick way, somehow proud of himself. "She was ridiculously easy to kidnap—all I had to do was sneak in in my rat form and replace her with a convincing double on Polyjuice, and with Dumbledore gone, no one thought to check!"

Rage as he had never known before was now coursing through Harry's body. An extreme heat centered at Harry's scar began to sear through him, spreading out from its initial point of occurrence and covering Harry's entire body. When the heat faded, Harry found himself drop to the floor, the power of movement regained.

He didn't speak, didn't think, just did the first thing that came to his mind. Seizing the best of the opportunity before him, Harry ran at Pettigrew and prepared to hurl himself at him. Suddenly, however, Harry felt his jump cease, and the next thing he knew he was being thrown against the wall again, his head aching from the sheer pain of hitting the hard stone.

Pettigrew's face was screwed up in concentration now, and Harry felt his hate for the man that stood before him increase a hundredfold. Not only had he betrayed his parents, but Harry had saved his _life_, caused his to owe Harry a wizards' debt, and still the bastard continued to hurt him and his friends.

Pettigrew began to mumble indiscernibly to himself, pacing the floor. Finally he stopped, pointing his wand at Ron, then at Hermione in turn.

"I cannot kill Harry, of course, this is true," said Pettigrew, muttering again, although this time he was close enough that Harry, Ron, and Hermione could hear him. "But my master said nothing about eliminating the other two...perhaps my reward would increase if I did..."

Harry struggled as hard as he could against his bonds, wanting to do something, _anything_, to stop the monster before him, but it was all in vain. Harry hung from the wall just as he had done before, nothing changing, still helpless and forced to watch the execution of his two best friends in the entire world by the person who was responsible for the deaths of his parents as well.

Pettigrew's wand continued to dance back and forth between Ron and Hermione, as though Pettigrew was unable to decide whom to kill first. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few moments, Pettigrew finally turned to Hermione and trained his wand on her, his entire body shaking now.

"I'm s-sorry, H-Hermione—but Ron looked after me for years as a—a rat, and y-your cat tried to kill me..."

Harry wished at that very moment that he could take Hermione's place, that Pettigrew would kill him instead, torture him, anything, fulfill the prophecy, as long as his friends would be okay. He wondered if he wished hard enough then he could perform accidental magic, but nothing sprang forth, no magical solution occurred sparing Hermione's life...Pettigrew had his wand pointed directly at Hermione's heart...he was saying the fatal curse, shaking like a leaf but somehow still managing the magic...the words on his lips were almost complete...Harry watched helplessly, his eyes transfixed on the form of his best friend since the troll incident in first year...

And then out of nowhere came a brilliant jet of red light. Pettigrew crumpled to the floor.

His savior made his or her way towards him, wand drawn, a pinpoint of light emitting from the end. As they approached, Harry briefly recognized her identity, but could hardly bring himself to say it...

"Ginny?" he asked confusedly, and the figure nodded, her red hair gleaming in the wandlight. With a flick of her wand, the invisible bonds binding Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the wall fell away, and Harry's two best friends converged on Pettigrew, removing their wands from his slimy grasp. But Harry remained still, simply staring into the face of the girl...no, woman...that he had resigned himself possibly never to see again.

"Gin—I—why did you come in?" asked Harry, averting his gaze, feeling like his heart was breaking at what he was about to ask her to do. "I told you to stay outside! You could be killed—I can't let you—"

"Harry, just stop right there, or I won't be able to respect you as long as I live!" shouted Ginny, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

Harry sadly turned to face her again. "Ginny..."

"Just don't talk to me like that," said Ginny, her face pained. "It hurts."

Harry stared at her speechlessly, marveling at how her chocolate-brown eyes looked in the dim light. Without warning, Ginny shot forward and embraced him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Do you think I can let you go without me?" she asked, her voice soft. "No matter what happens to me, I'm going with you."

Harry sighed. "Gin..."

But Ginny wasn't finished. "Let's go together," she said resolutely. "And come back together. Let's go back to my mum and dad, and Fred and George, and the rest of my family, and the whole world, together."

"Yeah," said Harry, leaning into the hug now with everything he had.

From a short distance away, Harry's two best friends looked at the couple, smiling. "Hermione?" asked Ron, looking at her, his gaze boring into her.

"What is it?" she asked, slightly aware of what was to come.

"Hermione—you know I feel the same way about you, don't you? I mean—if anything happened to you, I don't know what I would do. I've never thought of it because it's always just been me, you, and Harry, you know? But sometimes I wish that you would stay behind..."

"And you know perfectly well that that's never going to happen, so why even bother asking?" asked Hermione forcefully, before her gaze suddenly softened. "Look, Ron, I know what I'm getting into. I love you, and I'd gladly go into this if it meant that everything would be alright."

Ron nodded, overcome by his emotions. "Let's have dinner tomorrow," he said suddenly, causing Hermione to turn and look at him confusedly.

"What?" she asked, her voice showing her obvious confusion.

"Let's have dinner tomorrow," repeated Ron. "We'll all go to the Burrow. We can invite Neville, and Luna, and Katie, and Angelina, and Alicia, and of course Harry—"

"Sounds like a lot of fun," said Hermione, giving him a kiss on the lips. "Let's have a party with all our friends."

"Yeah, with everyone..."

They didn't notice Harry and Ginny coming up behind them until Harry had touched his shoulder. Jolted out of his moment with Hermione. "Finished snogging my sister?" asked Ron cheekily, and Harry nodded before speaking himself.

"Hey, Romeo and Hermione!" he retorted. "Get your asses out of lovey-dovey world and into the present! You _do_ remember that there's a very unbalanced and insane Dark Lord after us, right? You know, about yay high, demented sinister face, really needs to get laid? There'll be plenty of time for that after the war's over!"

Ron blushed, the tips of his ears turning red, before turning to Harry. "Alright, Harry," said Ron, chuckling slightly. "Let's go."

The four friends continued forward through the immense shrine, the pattering of their feet on the stone ground the only noise. Harry paused once when he heard a hissing noise, and could barely make out the words "_Kill...I smell fresh meat..._" in Parseltongue. Luckily, there seemed to be no way for whatever creature that was beyond the walls to reach Harry or his friends, and so they continued on for what seemed like an eternity before reaching another set of stairs. They climbed those stairs as well, Ginny insisting on going first and Harry much closer behind her than was needed. They then walked for a while across more stone floors until the walls tapered off and they found themselves at the edge of a crystal bridge.

Suddenly there was an unexplainable gust of wind, and Voldemort's sinister voice cut through the silence. "You may crossss..." he whispered, his snakelike voice accentuating the _s_ as though speaking Parseltongue. He took Ginny's hand.

"Harry. It could be a trap," she said to him, hand clutched deeply within his.

"He said cross," said Harry, more bravely than he felt. "Let's go."

"But..."

"Voldemort is testing us. He senses our feelings. Don't show any fear!"

Ron piped up from next to him. "You're right. That's what he's doing." With an obvious mix of bravery and fear, Ron made his way across the bridge, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione all holding their breaths and watching him carefully. Nothing happened, and he arrived safely on the other side, at which point he began beckoning them on earnestly. They all released the breaths that they had not been aware that they were holding, and Hermione stepped forward.

"My knowledge is strong," she said, using every ounce of bravery she could muster. "The hopes of my parents and all the Muggles in the world energize me." She joined Ron on the other side, and he hugged her before releasing her and turning to Harry and Ginny expectantly.

"Come on, Gin!" said Harry. "We're the world's last and only chance!"

"I know," she whispered, her voice so soft that it was partially lost in the darkness.

"There's still hope as long as I can feel my mother's love in this scar," said Harry, brushing aside the fringe of his hair and revealing the scar to Ginny.

She stared at it for a moment. "Your scar. It's—it's _shining_, Harry."

"We'll destroy Voldemort and restore peace," said Harry, a shiver running down his spine. "Promise me you'll go back with me."

"Yes, I promise. I'll go back with you."

Harry and Ginny, hands still entwined, stepped forward and made their way across the bridge, joining Ron and Hermione on the other side. Beyond them stretched more of the shrine, although there were strange designs and drawings on the walls and floor, mostly of snakes and the Hogwarts founders. Harry could make out a Slytherin serpent and Hufflepuff badger on the floor beneath them.

Suddenly, the unwelcome voice of Voldemort returned. "You...are powerful, Potter. What is it that gives you the strength to battle on?"

Harry gestured to Ginny and to where his hand still clutched hers tightly. "I have someone to protect..."

Voldemort's laughter rang throughout the shrine. "The woman beside you? You would risk your own life for one woman?"

"To me, she means more than life itself," Harry responded, and Ginny's hand clutched his even tighter.

He looked at her for a moment, and her face was obviously moved. "Harry..." she whispered, her chocolate-brown eyes staring into his.

"Is this _love_?" asked Voldemort disdainfully. "'The power I know not?' Ridiculous! Even such power must fall before Lord Voldemort!"

And then he was gone, leaving only the four friends alone in the dark.

Slightly shaken, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny moved forward, the carvings on the floor and walls moving past them. The drawings now lined every inch of the shrine, and depicted mostly Salazar Slytherin and snakes of all kinds, although there were still carvings of the other founders and even one of Godric Gryffindor holding a sword and looking very bravely at a dragon.

Finally the walls narrowed and met. As Harry and his friends moved forward, their wands illuminated a single door placed in the exact center of the wall in front of them, drawings extending in all directions as far as the eye could see. Faint voices could be heard coming from beyond it, although Harry could not make them out.

Harry, turning to his friends, put his finger to his lips before making his way to the door. Ginny followed him, withdrawing her hand to put her own ear to the door and listen along with Harry.

And then, from within the door, came the voice that Harry hated more than anything else in the world.

"Sssseverusss...so the rat has failed in his duties...we shall have to eliminate him...not that it shall be a great loss..."

"Yes, Master," came another voice, the one of the second-most hated man on Harry's list, his former Professor Snape. "But—what of Potter?"

Harry's eyes widened, and, from behind him, Ron and Hermione looked on curiously. "They're going to kill Pettigrew," he mouthed to them before replacing his ear on the door and listening carefully.

"—has no chance against me..." Voldemort was saying, the evil in him evident even from some distance away. "He knows nothing of the final Horcrux, and without it he stands no chance against the great Lord Voldemort."

Harry withdrew his ear from the door suddenly and stared at Ginny, who looked back at him with an equal expression of horror. There was an _eighth_ Horcrux? What could it be? There had been no mention of it—even Dumbledore hadn't known—

Silently, a weight settling into his stomach, Harry put his ear close to the doorknob and continued to listen. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a lull in the conversation, for neither Voldemort nor Snape said a word for almost thirty seconds. Finally, there came a whisper from inside—Lord Voldemort whispered almost lovingly, "_Potter_..."

The door swung open, and Harry didn't even have a chance to react before he was thrust into the air, hanging by his leg. He could see Severus Snape below him, wand drawn, a sarcastic smirk working its way across his face. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, taken by surprise, floated next to him before all four friends found themselves floating into the room where Voldemort was waiting. Another wave of Snape's wand and all four friends found their wands flying out of their hands and into Snape's, who proceeded to snap them all in half. The four friends found themselves pressed against the wall suddenly, and Harry was staring directly into the face of Lord Voldemort.

"Greetings, Potter," said Voldemort with an unearthly calm, as though he had been expecting him all along—which, Harry reminded himself, he probably had been. "Don't you know your manners? Please knock first next time," he said, a sneer upon his face.

Harry gathered a wad of spit in his mouth and unleashed it upon Voldemort, who simply wiped it away with a finger and waved his wand. Harry's entire body was now paralyzed...but he was floating now...

Voldemort used his wand to direct Harry to a standing position on the floor next to him, still staring at him with a strange expression in his eyes. Harry stared directly into his face, refusing to look away. Beyond Voldemort was Severus Snape, who was quickly approaching Voldemort on his most-hated list, and beyond Snape was another door, leading to some other part of the shrine.

"And now, Harry Potter," whispered Voldemort in the same loving tone. "This time there will be no speeches, no fair fights, no duels, no _Priori Incantatem_. This time, it is only you and me, and there is nothing in the world that can save you."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," whispered Voldemort. He pointed his wand directly at Harry, his expression slowly changing to one of ecstasy—he _had_ been waiting for this moment for many years, Harry supposed.

So, this was it, Harry supposed. After everything that he had done, after all that happened, it was all going to end here. Harry was not arrogant enough to think of himself as the world's only hope against Voldemort, but that had been what the prophecy had _said_, hadn't it? What would happen to Ron, and Hermione, and Ginny—_Ginny_—after he was gone? An anger beyond any he had ever felt before flowed through his body at the thought of everything that the monster before him had taken from him—Tom Marvolo Riddle, the bullied half-blood boy who thought that he could rule the world.

"_Avada_—"

And then the absolute last thing that Harry expected occurred. From behind Voldemort, there was a red beam of light, and Voldemort suddenly found his wand flying out of his hand.

Voldemort spun around in rage, eyes wide with fury at Severus Snape, the one who had betrayed him. But Harry knew what he had to do.

Focusing every single ounce of hatred that he felt for Lord Voldemort upon the man in front of him, Harry raised his hand and pointed it at his nemesis, screaming the words, "_Avada Kedavra!_" A writhing green mass shot out of his hand and came into contact with Voldemort, who could do nothing but scream as his body fell away before him, dissolving into nothingness. Out of the body a shimmer of air emerged, flying out one of the windows of Voldemort's shrine.

There was a sudden force from behind him, and he found himself almost falling to the floor at the force of his friends' hugs. Finally Ginny came up to him and threw her arms around him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. "You did it!" she shouted. "You—you killed Voldemort!"

"Yeah—" said Harry, happiness engulfing him as well. "Yeah—I-I did it—"

But then Harry remembered something, and turned around in a flash. "But—Snape?" asked Harry, and behind him his friends voiced their confusion as well, having forgotten that the Potions Master was even in the room. Slowly Harry pulled his wand, and pointed it at Snape, his friends doing the same. "But—you killed Dumbledore—" said Harry, although he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Indeed I did, Mr. Potter," said Snape, his voice resigned. "But not of my own free will."

"What?" asked Harry, incredibly confused. He had been there that night atop the Astronomy Tower—Dumbledore's body falling to the ground below replayed over and over in his mind—

"You see, Mr. Potter, during the summer of last year I was forced to make an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy," began Snape, "To protect her son during his mission—which, as you know, was to kill Albus Dumbledore—and to watch over him. But at the end of the Vow, before I could stop it, she added one more thing—I was to complete the task if Draco could not do so. After I made the Vow I went immediately to Albus, and begged his forgiveness for doing so. But instead of meeting me with anger or hatred, he met me calmly, as though ready for death."

"_Death is but the next great adventure..._" mouthed Harry, a strange understanding coming over him—Snape seemed sincere.

"Obviously, we were met with a quandary—there was no way that Draco could kill Albus, and we both knew it. That meant that either Dumbledore or myself was to die eventually—and Dumbledore wanted himself to be the one."

Harry and his friends looked at each other, and he was certain that all of them were thinking the same thing—they would have much rather had Snape die for Dumbledore instead of the other way around. Snape looked at them, and Harry thought for a second that he saw a knowing look pass over Snape's face—but that was impossible, for Snape did not talk civilly with Harry Potter.

"At first I refused," continued Snape. "There was no way that I could kill Albus—he was the one who took me in after everyone else refused me—the one who gave me a second chance when all others were clamoring for my imprisonment in Azkaban and the Dementor's Kiss."

"The entire year he asked, and the entire year I refused. But then, one night towards the end of the school year, Albus called me to his office. He told me that he suspected Draco had found a way to allow Death Eaters entry into the castle, and that he was taking you on an Order mission but would return soon. However, he had no idea of what he would find in that cave, and when he returned he returned weakened and easy bait for a Death Eater."

"And then you killed him, didn't you?" asked Ginny fiercely, her chocolate eyes shining with anger. "You killed him, even though he gave you a job and a home, even though he trusted you when no others would! You killed him—"

"Indeed I did, Miss Weasley—or is it Mrs. Potter these days?" taunted Snape."

"Get on with it, Snape," said Ginny angrily, and Snape simply nodded and continued.

"I did, and I regret it every single day. But if you would allow me to continue, perhaps I can explain to do why I did so," said Snape, with—was that _regret _in his voice?

"You see, that night before you left, Mr. Potter, I finally promised him that I would kill him if the situation unfolded. And soon it did, for he returned from the Horcrux mission greatly weakened. I was soon called to the scene by Greyback and the others, and I arrived just as Malfoy was about to kill Albus."

"And at that moment, Albus saw his chance to accomplish two very important things at once—to save Draco from becoming a killer and to cement my own position in the Dark Lord's inner circle. With his last effort, he contacted me via Legilimency to beg me to kill him—and yes, I did so, although I would now give anything to take it back."

Harry was spellbound. He stared at his friends—Ron and Hermione simply stared, mouths wide open, and Ginny opened her mouth several times before finally speaking. "So—so Dumbledore _asked_ you to kill him?"

"Correct, Miss Weasley," said Snape, and his usual sarcasm seemed to have drained out of his voice. He looked tired now, tired and weak, just as Dumbledore had been on that night.

"And now, Mr. Potter," continued Snape, "I must tell you something. There are not one, but two more Horcruxes. One lies beyond that very door, and one has been kept secret even to the Dark Lord's most faithful followers, and so I am afraid I cannot help you locate it. But when the Dark Lord perishes, due to a link between our Dark Marks, all Death Eaters shall as well. And I have a confession to make—I have not treated you at all fairly, Mr. Potter, and for that I apologize. I could only see your father in you, and it is no secret that I hated James Potter—but that was unfair to you, and for that I apologize."

Harry now found himself gaping at Snape. _Snape_, the evil Potions Master and Death Eater, hater of all Gryffindors, killer of Albus Dumbledore, was _apologizing_ to Harry Potter? Harry rubbed his eyes, but no—Snape still stood in front of him, a resigned expression on his face.

And now, Mr. Potter, you must destroy the final Horcruxes, for, as I am sure you know, Voldemort will soon return if all links to this plane are not destroyed. Good luck, Mr. Potter, and I am indeed sorry." And before Harry could say a word, Snape exited through the door from which Harry and his friends had come, closing it softly behind him.

Harry and his friends simply stared ahead for a moment before they regained their bearings and nodded to each other, making their way towards the door. Harry opened it, revealing another series of dark passages which supposedly led to the seventh Horcrux of Lord Voldemort. The foursome stepped through the door—

And suddenly there was a flash of green light, and Ginny's body fell to the floor beneath him. Lucius Malfoy removed an Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders and leveled his wand at the four—no, three friends.

Harry couldn't move. Couldn't think. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his hand...pointed it at Malfoy...

But suddenly the floor beneath him began to shake. Ron and Hermione jumped backwards as a hole opened up in the floor, growing larger and larger, and Lucius Malfoy had no time to move before he was engulfed by the shrine, falling to the floor below with a sickening crack.

Ron and Hermione watched helplessly as Harry knelt by Ginny's dead body. "You-you promised me you'd go back with me, Gin," said Harry softly. "Why didn't you keep your promise?" Tears filled Hermione's eyes as she stared at two of her best friends, one now dead. Ron, too, looked inconsolable—he was mouthing Ginny's name over and over, unable to move, making Hermione pull him backwards as the floor crumbled further, widening the gap between Ron and Hermione and the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Oh, no," said Hermione, and Ron looked at her questioningly. "There's an anti-Apparation charm around this shrine," she elaborated. "And the only way out is this Portkey the Order gave us, but Harry's too far to take! What are we going to do?" she asked, and the phrase seemed to echo in her head. _What are we going to do?_

Harry suddenly climbed to his feet somewhat unsteadily, his face unreadable. "Go," he said softly, and Hermione was sure she misheard.

"W—What, Harry?" asked Hermione again.

"Go," repeated Harry. "Save yourselves. Go!"

"Harry?" asked Hermione, shaken.

"We've defeated Voldemort!" said Harry, his resolve seeming to increase. "The people need to know. You must be the messengers!"

"But..."

"I can't leave Ginny. Please understand."

Hermione was speechless. She stared at her best friend of seven years—he was asking them to leave him for dead. No—she wasn't the smartest witch in her year if she couldn't find some way to get them out of this. She began to think.

"Harry..." Ron turned to him. "You've been the best friend that I could ever ask for. Let's go, Hermione," he said, pulling the crumpled aluminum can that served as their Portkey out of his pocket. Hermione turned to him in horror.

"Ron, what are you..."

"Harry wants us to go! If we can't all go together, that leaves us only one choice!"

Hermione continued to stare at Ron, mortified. Harry watched from his position across the crumbled shrine as his two best friends fought with themselves, and smiled as he thought of all their fights over the years.

Now Hermione turned to face him, tears flowing freely down her face. "Harry..." she said. "I promise to tell the world about this victory. Please! You must try..." she began, before the Portkey activated and his two best friends disappeared in a flash.

"Ginny..." Harry once again knelt at the foot of his dead girlfriend's body. "There will be a new era of peace," he said, struggling to keep the tears from flowing. "I wish we could have seen it. Ginny, I love you. I always have and I always will."

With those final words, Harry struggled to his feet, trying to maintain his focus on the task ahead of him, but he found himself strangely apathetic. Ginny was dead. Nothing else mattered.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, raising his hand in front of him, not even noticing that he performed the spell without a wand. With that, he turned forwards and continued on the path ahead of him. Harry was unaware if he walked for mere minutes or days, just that the path finally ended at another door exactly like the first. The door was unlocked—Voldemort had apparently not expected anyone to come this far.

Harry opened the door and looked inside, holding his hand in front of him to cut through the darkness. Before him, sitting on a table, was a lone book—Rowena Ravenclaw's artifact. The seventh Horcrux.

But how to destroy it? Harry placed his hand in front of him and focused his energy on performing a great burst of magic.

_Reducto_. Nothing. _Diffindo._ Nothing. _Sectumsempra_. Nothing.

Harry felt his hopes slowly sinking. He was going to die in this shrine, and he couldn't even destroy a _book_ while he was there! Feeling his anger rise, Harry stepped forward and grasped the book in one of his hands, ready to throw it to the floor in a fit of anger.

And then he stopped and stared in shock.

The book's pages were turning by themselves—Ravenclaw must have left a bit of herself in the book as well. Puzzled, Harry replaced the book on the table and stared at the page it had opened to. The page seemed to have been written in Latin, but before Harry's very eyes the book's words melted away and reformed into English.

_Attero veneficium—The Magic Destruction Spell._

_This spell is very dangerous and is not in wide use due to its extremely volatile nature. The caster must focus all of his or her magic into one spell in order to destroy a person or object, hence the name _Magic Destruction Spell. _Most of the time this spell is fatal, because all but the most powerful of wizards cannot survive without their magic. The incantation is "Attero veneficium," followed by a forward flick and twirl of the wand._

And Harry almost dropped the book in realization. He knew what the final Horcrux was.

The eighth Horcrux was him.

It all made sense suddenly—the connection with Voldemort, which always seemed to go deeper than the scar. Voldemort's confidence that no one would discover the last Horcrux. The failed Killing Curse that Voldemort had attempted on Harry must have had far greater effects than anyone but Voldemort himself had known—in attempting to kill Harry, the soul had split a final time, and that piece was now embedded in Harry by the eternal connection between him and Voldemort. His scar.

And then Harry knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath, focusing every single ounce of his magic on the spell. Without giving himself time to second guess himself, he performed the wand movement demonstrated on the page with his hand, saying aloud the words "_Attero veneficium!_"

An immense ring of light emerged from Harry, surrounding him for an instant before flinging itself into the book. There was a sudden scream, although no one else was in the room, and the book's pages suddenly began to turn by themselves before fading into nothingness, crumbling away into dust.

Seven of eight.

And then suddenly Harry fell to his knees, although he was unaware that anything had happened. He felt incredibly tired...perhaps it was time to rest a little...

"Ginny, I did it. Ron, Hermione—the world will be okay now." Harry crumpled to the ground, his last bits of energy leaving him.

A ghostly image then appeared before Harry—that of Ginny Weasley. "Harry..." she said softly, her voice ethereal.

Harry blinked his eyes several times—this must be a hallucination brought on by his overexertion. "Ginny?" he gasped anyway. "Is that you?"

"You did it, Harry," she said, her chocolate-brown eyes piercing his gaze, removing all doubts about the reality of the scene that he was seeing now. "Yeah, I did, didn't I, Gin?"

"Let's go, Harry. Let's go to your parents...and Sirius, and Remus, and Bill...and Dumbledore..."

Harry smiled very weakly. "Yes, let's do that," he said. His exhaustion was slowly fading away, and a happiness beyond any he had ever felt was now taking its place. He felt himself rising into the air, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. Above him, Ginny watched peacefully, her hair enfolding her radiantly and giving her the appearance of an angel. He wanted nothing more than to go up there with her, to be with her forever, and...

_Did you really think I would be so careless, Potter?_

The sudden voice echoed throughout his head, not registering. Voldemort? But...how? He had destroyed all the Horcruxes...he himself was the last one...it was over...

Ginny stared down at him, tears in her eyes. She cried out in terror at whatever she saw, and her face contorted with the amount of effort it took her to resist the pull upwards. Harry stared at her uncomprehendingly, then pushed himself upwards towards her. He was so close...

Push. Push harder. With all of Harry's strength he struggled to retain his grip on death and take Voldemort with him into the abyss...and yet somehow, he was being pulled out of it...Ginny's form was fading...

"No!" cried Harry with his last ounce of strength, and he reached out with everything he had to his disappearing girlfriend, as she did the same. Images flashed through Harry's head...Ginny running towards him after the Quidditch game in sixth year...Ginny's body in the Chamber, Riddle's outline growing stronger next to it...Ginny leaning against his legs as he sat on his favorite armchair in the Gryffindor common room...Ginny kissing him, her eyes sparkling with life, her red hair cascading down her back...

For a brief instant, Harry and Ginny's hands touched. And then Harry was ripped away so painfully that he immediately fell into unconsciousness.

**- - - -**

**--A/N-- **Thanks so much for reading, and please review if you enjoyed this!


	2. Sunrise over Oxford

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Although I had the idea first, really! I had the entire plot and story mapped out, but then one day J.K. Rowling sent a ninja into my house and took it! I tried to fight back, but the ninja came out of nowhere and tied me up before I could do anything. Tears filling my eyes, I stood in the corner and watched silently as Rowling clutched my life's work, my Barry Potter manuscript, in her hands, an unquestionably evil laugh filling the room as she crossed out the 'B' and wrote an 'H' in its place. Lightning crashed outside my windows even though the sky was cloudless...

Oh. Sorry. Looks like I got sidetracked there. Anyway, Harry Potter belongs to J. K. "Dancing Lotus" Rowling, thanks to her threats to my loved ones if I ever sued.

**A/N** – Well, if you're still reading after that disclaimer, I applaud you. So...just enjoy the chapter. I won't torment you any longer.

- - - -

**Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return**

Chapter One – Sunrise over Oxford

William Parry groaned, shifting sideways into his wife, Nicole. His head felt like a lead weight, and his brain struggled to process the scene in front of him.

Wearily, he opened his eyes. The morning sun shined with a blinding red light, pouring into Will's bedroom and casting shadows across Nicole's sleeping form before shooting directly into his eyes. He shaded his face with an arm and sat up slowly, savoring every second his head rested on the pillow before it left, leaving him sitting up and exhausted.

He stared out at the rising sun. It was blood red and much brighter than usual, and seemed to have grown larger—but that was only Will's imagination. Shaking his head to clear it of any lingering dream-thoughts, he got up—slowly, so he wouldn't wake Nicole—and let his feet fall to the floor gently, stretching and yawning. It was much too early to be up—the bedside clock read only 8:30 in the morning. But for some reason Will pulled on a long-sleeve shirt and pair of jeans anyway and made his way to the kitchen, hoping for a fresh cup of coffee to further clear his mind.

Kirjava, who had been sleeping at the end of Will's bed, invisible to his wife, stretched and followed him, her soft paws making no noise on the thick carpet. Once they were out of earshot of Nicole, she spoke.

"Morning, Will," said his daemon tiredly, yawning.

"Morning, Kirjava," said Will. "Bloody Mondays, huh?"

Kirjava nodded wearily, her head moving up and down in a very uncatlike behavior. "Why are you up so early?" she asked, although she already knew, and Will simply stared at her. "You felt it too, right?" she said finally. "That something's not right?"

"Yeah," said Will. "I don't remember ever feeling this apprehensive before. It's like something's wrong with—with Dust, or something like that."

Kirjava spoke quietly. "Will, what if it is? What if we have to leave Nicole and go on another adventure? It's been twenty years...and we'd see Lyra again..."

"No," said Will. "No. I can't stand to see her again. Once a year, on Midsummer's Day, and that's it. It's too painful—I could never stay with Nicole if I knew there was any chance of seeing her again. She'll be waiting for me in the land of the dead—that's it. I've been building the Republic of Heaven, dammit!"

"Calm down, Will," said Kirjava slowly. "It's just a feeling, remember? It's probably nothing."

Slightly shaken, Will nodded and went over to a container in the kitchen to pour the instant coffee mix into the coffee maker. When the smell had permeated the entire house, he sat down lazily at the kitchen table and began to see sense.

"You're right, Kirjava. It's just a feeling. It's just—it was like—I haven't felt this way since losing you when me and Lyra went into the world of the dead. I thought it was over, you know? And now there's a chance that I might have to leave Nicole behind...leave the life I built here..."

"You won't," said Kirjava, ever the voice of reason. "Now wait a few more minutes, and enjoy some coffee. You've got a tedious day of work ahead of you, and don't forget that you're still working off a hangover."

"It's not a hangover," said Will stubbornly. "I only had two drinks last night—"

But Will trailed off as he felt Kirjava tense. "What—" he started to ask, but stopped as she arched her back and hissed—something was definitely wrong, and it didn't take an expert on cats to figure that out.

Will stood up and backed away from the air that Kirjava was spitting at warily, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and any possible threat. And then he caught it—a tiny shimmer in the air, nothing more, but enough for one who had been to other worlds, like Will, to be certain that someone was in his house.

And then the figure stepped into a half-shadow, and Will could briefly make out the outline of none other than Xaphania. Kirjava relaxed slowly, although Will could tell she still felt on edge.

"Will," said Xaphania softly.

"Xaphania!" said Will in as loud a voice as he could manage without waking Nicole. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you since—"

"I know," said the angel briefly. And then Will really saw her for the first time—she looked slightly more defined, slightly stronger and wiser, than she had been before. But something was visibly troubling her.

"What's wrong, Xaphania?" said Will with a shiver of foreboding.

He and Kirjava watched the slight shimmer in the air with rapt attention as Xaphania, for the first time that Will could ever remember, seemed to lose her composure slightly.

"Will—you deserve much better than you've gotten. I'm so sorry to make you—"

She trailed off. Will and Kirjava exchanged a silent look, although much was communicated between them. Kirjava's earlier hunch had been right—something _was_ wrong. They would have to leave Nicole behind, go on another adventure.

"What?" asked Will carefully, keeping his voice genial but guarded.

"Will—you've been doing great ever since you and Lyra parted. Much better than I would have thought. You continue to help in the building of the Republic of Heaven with your work in the area of dark matter, educating others with the same knowledge that I have imparted to you. And of course, the love that you and Nicole have for each other is clearly defined, even in the very Dust clouds that surround you. I am amazed that your relationship has gone so well."

"Why?" asked Will, feeling almost violated at Xaphania's lack of confidence in him. "She's my wife. I love her. That's enough."

"It is," said Xaphania, sounding slightly confused, although Will could not tell for the life of him why.

"What have you come here for, Xaphania?" asked Will finally, dropping all formalities.

"I—" Her voice was unsteady, and for the second time in his life Will had it impressed upon him the fragility of the angels, and their true desire of having flesh and bones like a human—Xaphania's begging voice was entirely inhuman in its weakness—humans had built defenses within themselves much too strong to display such emotion.

"I've come to ask a favor," said Xaphania finally. "Something terrible has happened. The balance of Dust throughout the worlds has been disrupted, throwing the worlds out of equilibrium. Some—something has traveled between worlds that shouldn't have. There is now an open window, although we don't know the location for sure. You see, there is a world much like ours that has developed the ability to do things that the people of your world would only call 'magic'. Things like levitating objects, starting fires or shooting fire from wands, even such horrible things as killing and mind control."

Will's eyes widened at this—he had not thought about the sheer volume of other worlds beyond his. There must be a world for every single choice—that was what Lyra had told him. If you flipped a coin, and it landed heads, in one world it landed tails and a split was created. Every single choice, every single event that had more than one possibility since the beginning of time had created a world. There must be a world where another Will had gone to the world of another Lyra, or a world where there was a loophole allowing them to be together. There were an infinite amount of worlds, his father had told him, and Dust was the only thing connecting them all; Dust was human sentience itself. And that made the situation Xaphania had described all the more dangerous.

"One of these people, a wizard, as they are called, has turned to what the inhabitants of that other world call dark magic. He uses spells to torture and kill people, and coerce them into doing what he wants. And what he wants is elimination of all non-magic people—oh yes, there are others like you in their world, who have no magic, who live in ignorance of the magical world, and this man—his given name is Tom Riddle, but he goes by Voldemort—he thinks they are inferior, and that everyone with an ounce of non-magical blood in their veins deserves to be killed, and only what he deems 'purebloods' should rule the world."

Will took in a sharp gasp of air. The poor people of that world must be living in terror and subservience, a horrible life unlike anything that Will had gone through in his own world. He continued to stare at the faded form of Xaphania, thinking that he had an idea of where this conversation was going.

"Voldemort has found a way to travel between worlds using magic. He has created a window between his world and another, although we are not sure of which one, and has apparently taken another wizard, a mere boy, along with him. Will, if this man continues to make windows, it will be the disaster of the Subtle Knife all over again, and all creatures of Dust—angels, daemons—will die. Humans and sentient creatures in all worlds will become mere robots. In other words, he must be stopped."

Will looked deep into the eyes of Xaphania. She was much different from the Xaphania he remembered—she spoke to him as an equal, and with true respect in her voice. She was telling him the most important information in any universe, and if he was right, she was about to ask for his help.

And Will knew this, and yet he felt something inside him yearning for the adventure.

"Is there any way to stop him?" he asked finally. "Is there a way to kill him, or at least disable him? Or is his magic too powerful—"

"We do not know," said Xaphania solemnly, and behind him Kirjava shivered. "We know that he has been killed at least once, and yet he has somehow managed to return. As far as we can tell, he is the closest thing to immortal that any human has ever achieved."

"And so, William Parry, I am afraid I must ask for your help once again. I have already caused you to do the most painful thing in your entire life, and now I must ask you once again to leave one you love, and for this I am truly sorry."

"Why me?" asked Will. "Don't tell me that I'm destined to do it or anything, because I know that me and—me and Lyra destroyed Fate. For all we know, this Voldemort could be killed tomorrow in an accident and all of our worries could be unfounded."

"He could," said Xaphania, and Will noticed her air of knowledge and superiority returning, "but it is incredibly, incredibly unlikely. Why you, William? Simply because you know what is at stake, having already done it once before. You are in possession of the Subtle Knife of Cittagazze, and you are its rightful bearer. Do you know how an alethiometer works, William?" asked Xaphania suddenly, and Will blanched briefly at the sudden change of subject.

"Uh—no," said Will finally, and Xaphania nodded as if that was what she expected.

"It is Dust," said Xaphania, and Will understood almost immediately—it was as if he had known it all along. "Dust—or angels. Sraf. Dark matter. Watchers. _Bene elim. _Whatever different names we go by, we are all one. And I can see, William Parry, just as clearly as I can see you standing in front of me, that you and the knife will have a role to play in the upcoming struggle. Things are not as clear as they were before, because you and Lyra abolished Fate, but we still retain slight powers of divination."

Will nodded—finally, his gut feeling had been confirmed. She was asking him and Kirjava to travel, away from Nicole and the love that he had known for fifteen years, away from his job researching Dark Matter and his work in building the Republic of Heaven, and save the world from the very thing that he and Lyra had saved it from twenty years ago.

"Have you talked to Lyra?" asked Will after a brief pause, his heart clenching and unclenching rapidly.

"No," said Xaphania. "While she is extremely resourceful, she does not possess the power to use the Subtle Knife as you do."

"The knife is broken," said Will suddenly. "How can I use it if it's broken? How can I open windows, or even cut this Voldemort, if I need to, with a broken knife?"

"I do not know the answer to that," said Xaphania. "However, I do know that if you do not, the consequences shall be dire, although I cannot even see the consequences."

Will sighed. How could he be expected to leave the world he had known for the past twenty years to help the angels once again? Had he not done enough already for them? What right did they have to ask him for yet another favor?

And then Kirjava's voice filled his mind. _Will, you know,_ she said simply. _You know you must do this. Do you want everything you and Lyra worked for to go to waste all because of one insane wizard from another world?_

Will turned his glance away from his daemon and to the shimmering face of the angel that had made him part from the first girl he had ever loved, his soul mate, so long ago. Though much of his memory of his childhood had faded, he remembered as though it were yesterday the mischievous glint in Lyra's eyes as she raised the fruit to his lips, and their first kiss in the world of the _mulefa_, and the way her hands felt against Kirjava's fur as they lay under one of the trees and professed their love for one another. And then there was Nicole, who Will knew he was in love with as sure as he was that Kirjava was lying by his side at that moment. He remembered their first date, a rushed affair set up by one of Will's school friends. He remembered their first kiss, a simple yet meaningful gesture in the flat that Will had been living in then that caused him to realize for the first time some of the extent of his feelings for Nicole.

And he knew that if this Voldemort succeeded, both of them would suffer. They would both lose what he and Lyra had worked so hard for. And there was no way he would let that happen.

Xaphania looked away from Will's piercing gaze, but he got up and moved into her line of sight, straightened his shoulders, and bent to pet his daemon in a sudden gesture as she joined him by his side.

"I'll do it," said Will, with all the conviction he could muster.

"Excellent," said Xaphania, deepest respect filling her ethereal eyes. "Will—I don't know how to thank you for this. You are doing the worlds a great favor."

Will nodded at the angel, the adrenaline rushing through his veins at the prospect of an adventure. "I'll get the Knife shards," said Will, mustering the strength to examine the Subtle Knife again for the first time in ten years. Xaphania nodded.

"I will remain here until you return," she said quietly as Will disappeared into his room, where his wife still slept unknowingly.

Will made his way to the closet where the knife was kept, walking as quietly as possible. Slowly, so as not to make any noise, he removed the shoebox where the Knife shards were kept, perfectly arranged within the sheath that Will had worn for the first time when he was only twelve years old.

His breath caught in his chest as he opened the box, revealing the sheath within. Memories shot unbidden through his head—Lyra holding out a piece of fruit to him, her eyes begging him to take it...her hands on Kirjava as she assumed the form that she would be forever afterwards...

But Will wrenched his mind away from that topic painfully—he wouldn't let himself be distracted. He removed the sheath and turned around, only to find himself face to face with something that he never thought he would see again in his life.

A Specter.

He shouted a warning to his wife, but she didn't move. Horrible realization spread through his consciousness—he stepped backwards, but there was nowhere to run—

"Who are you?" Will shouted, voice shaking, at the empty air, knowing that the Specter had certainly not randomly found its way into his house. "What do you want?"

The Specter stopped in its advance, and a figure seemed to shimmer into existence in front of him. A pang of fear swept through Will's body at the man who stood before him—he had an extremely snakelike appearance, and his red eyes seemed to see through to his very soul, oddly like the Metatron's in that respect.

"Very good, William Parry," said the—man? _Thing?_ What was he? "But I am afraid you will not have much time to revel in your knowledge."

"W—why do you want me?" asked Will, refusing to let himself be intimidated. "You can't use the knife—only the bearer can!" Will smiled at the last trick that he would be able to pull on his intruder—the man had all of his fingers, and therefore would not be able to work the knife even if he managed to repair it.

"Why in the world would I want your knife?" asked the man, and Will felt his heart sink. "I have no use for it. No, my friend, I am here simply because you know too much. And now...now you must be disposed of. _Avada Kedavra_!"

And William Parry's last thought before the beam of green light struck him was that he hoped the world of the dead would be a much happier place.

- - - -

**A/N** – Well? That's about how long most of the chapters are going to be from now on, so please review and tell me if you liked or disliked it and why! I'll read every review!


	3. Distorted Reality

**Disclaimer**: Decidí hacer éste en español, porque nadie lee éstes y tengo un exámen final en mi clase de Español 4 AP este semana. ¡Qué lástima, ¿no? J.K. Rowling es la autora de los libros de Harry Potter, y yo no soy el autor porque ella me robó dos años antes y llevó mi idea...Más, espero que vosotros os disfrutéis mi cuenta, y revistad. (I think that's the vosotros command for review...anyway, review.)

Also, I'm hoping at least _somebody_ noticed, but the basic idea for Atlantis in this story comes from the kingdom of Zeal in the Super Nintendo RPG Chrono Trigger. The last video game in this story, though, I promise.

- - - -

**Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return**

Chapter Two – Distorted Reality

He was in a cave that was completely and utterly filled with darkness. The sound of a harsh wind blowing through it reached his ears, but there was no entrance, no way for the wind to get in, that he could see. In fact, he could see nothing—all around him was darkness, surrounding everything, seeping throughout the very walls of the place and seeping within him as well...

_Wait a minute._

Slowly, painfully, Harry came back to consciousness. Briefly he pondered if he would really prefer unconsciousness, with everything that had happened to him and his friends, but decided against it—the world had to have a hero.

The first thing he was aware of was a severe cold, the same cold he had awoken to after Voldemort's mysterious taunt and the spell he must have done, whatever it was. But somehow the cold didn't seem so bad—his eyes, which before could hardly bear to open, seemed somehow less painful. In fact, he figured that opening them would be a good idea...

The wind smacked him directly in the face, taking his breath away with its sheer force. Snow was falling everywhere and all around him in swirls of white, obscuring the world in front of him with its luminescent blanket. But something was different.

And then, as Harry finally completely snapped back to reality, he realized what it was. He wasn't lying on the ground, as he would have expected.

He was being levitated.

Before the shock of this finding could completely set in, Harry rolled himself over in a sudden motion, and suddenly was in the snow. The cold increased, tearing at the numbness that covered his body like some kind of protective coat. Tasting the frozen mush beneath him, he spat out a mouthful of it and spun around again to face his foe. It had to be Voldemort—who else would have found him in such a remote wilderness?

And yet it wasn't. In Voldemort's place was a bearded man wearing robes that were incredibly odd even by wizarding standards. It seemed that his robes were made up of at least three separate articles of clothing, and each was a different color. His eyes were screwed up in concentration and exasperation, but his face was a pleasant one, although slightly worn. He seemed to be about fifty years old, and had permanent wrinkles around his mouth that showed his good humor.

Harry's eyes continued to scan the man, who seemed to be waiting with an incredible amount of patience. And that was when he had another shock. The man was not carrying a wand.

Instead, his entire body seemed to be glowing with magic, magic seeping into and out of him and surrounding himself and Harry with a slight glow. A slight bluish glow was visible around the outer edges of an invisible bubble that seemed to be surrounding Harry and the man. But before Harry could observe any more, the man's laughter-worn face turned to Harry, a slight smile forming upon it.

"And who might you be?" asked the man gently, with no air of suspicion in his voice. Harry imagined for a moment what Mad-Eye Moody would think of the man's trusting attitude—naïve, he would say, and incredibly foolish. For a moment Harry longed for even the old Auror commander, with his worn face and missing eye and leg, warning Harry to keep constant vigilance.

Harry felt himself fading again, and expected to be berated by the man, who would certainly have to exhaust much more of his strange brand of magic to levitate Harry as opposed to having him walk by his side. But the man didn't seem to mind—on the contrary, he simply raised a hand, and the last thing Harry was aware of before returning to the void was his body being lifted yet again into the air, and motion beginning to take over his body.

- - - -

The next time Harry awoke, he felt not the cold harsh snow he was expecting, but a soft layer of blankets surrounding him. He must have been lying in a bed—had the man rescued him? Harry felt much stronger than he had the previous two times he awoke—so strong, in fact, that he thought it was time for a chat with his mysterious savior.

But when he opened his eyes, there was no sign of the man. He was in a building built of solid marble, with strange designs on the walls and floor. It looked like nothing that Harry had ever seen before—who the hell _were_ these people, since there was obviously more than one, and most importantly where was he?

With a sudden burst of strength that Harry didn't even know that he had in him, Harry rolled out of his bed and directly onto the floor. Immediately pain began to overtake every part of his body, as though it was simply waiting for him to attempt to move so it could return. The next second, he heard footsteps rushing in to the room where Harry and his bed were, and he was again twisting in midair, finally coming to rest on his feet and directly facing the man who had levitated him out of the wilderness.

But the man didn't speak. Instead he simply stared at him, and Harry felt a sort of foreign presence in his mind, although nothing like it had felt when Snape or Voldemort invaded it. Instead, it was comforting, and barely lasted an instant before retreating and returning back to the man, who Harry was beginning to revere more and more with every sighting of him.

"So, Harry Potter, we seem to have a celebrity on our hands." The man's tone of voice was not taunting, as was Snape's whenever he mentioned Harry's fame, nor was it too genial, but simply matter-of-fact, as though talking about the weather.

"Who _are_ you?" asked Harry, rather rudely, he later realized, but he didn't care. Something very strange was going on here, and he had just lost everyone he cared about in a single battle. There seemed to be nothing that mattered to him anymore.

"That is easy, Harry. My name is Eric Orwell, although you may call me simply Eric, as I can see that you are used to referring to adults by their last names. In answer to your next unspoken question, yes, I did read your mind. In my world it is nothing special, but you seem to be sufficiently surprised by it."

If Harry had been shocked by the man's ability to read minds, he was even more shocked by his first true statement. "You—_your world_?" he stammered, suddenly finding himself in a situation where he had absolutely no control and hating it. Where had Voldemort put him? One instant he was triumphing over the greatest Dark Lord known to wizardkind, finally avenging his parents and Sirius and now Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the countless others who had died in the battle, and the next Voldemort had completely thrown him for a loop and abandoned him here, in this strange place...

"Yes, my world," answered Eric, seeming not the slightest bit fazed by the statement. "You see, Harry, there are many parallel universes that exist in addition to your own."

Harry didn't know what to say or do in response to this statement, so he simply fell backwards into a sitting position on his bed. Eric continued in the same objective yet light voice.

"Think of it this way, Harry. Imagine that you are making a decision—I am sorry to bring this from your mind, but bear with me—imagine your decision to take the cup with Cedric Diggory, may he rest in peace. You see, there were truly many different possibilities that could have occurred—you could have convinced him to take the cup, you could have taken it alone, you could have taken it at the same time—every single other possibility that you didn't decide to do yourself caused a split, a split in the very fabrics of magic itself, and for every possibility that was not chosen, another world was formed."

Harry continued to stare blankly at the man. Somehow he must have sensed that Harry didn't understand his explanation, because he quickly changed tracks.

"Okay, then imagine this—you are flipping a coin—they do not exist in our world, but I believe I understand the concept. When the coin lands, there are only two possibilities, heads or tails, correct?"

Again Harry did nothing but stare at the man, but he seemed to take it as a yes this time and continued.

"You see, suppose that in your world—suppose that the coin lands heads. But in another world the coin landed tails, and a split was created. It is, in reality, much more complex than that—the changes occur on every possible level, and first they occurred in the very building blocks of matter itself—I believe you would call it DNA and RNA, amino acids and lipids, in the very atoms themselves—every single time that there is a situation with more than one possibility, another world is formed for every possibility that did not occur. There are truly an infinite amount of worlds, or at least too many to count, because of the great number of splits that must have occurred throughout time."

Harry's head was spinning. Voldemort had sent him to another _universe_? Parallel universes, to him, seemed just as foreign as magic would seem to a Muggle.

"You have it, Harry," came the sudden voice of Eric, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "Just give yourself time to accept it—soon you will fully understand."

"So when did your world split off from mine?" asked Harry, his sorrow briefly replaced by curiosity. "What happened to make you so powerful—in my world we need wands to do magic, although I suppose you already know that."

Eric laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that was inescapably contagious. "That I did, Harry," he said after a brief pause, "although I will stop reading your mind if you don't wish me to."

"Please don't," said Harry, images of Ginny and the green light swimming unwillingly to the surface of his thoughts. Eric seemed to understand—in fact, he must have, having read Harry's thoughts—and he nodded.

"Wait—" said Harry suddenly, clarity seeming to return fully to his mind for the first time since the battle. "No—parallel universes? Yeah, right. Bloody Death Eater!" shouted Harry, reaching for his wand, which lay on his bedside table. "What am I doing? Why do I believe you so easily? You must be using some kind of spell—"

"Please, Harry—there is something I must do to help you understand," said Eric, and before Harry's fingers even reached the tip of his wand the world around him shimmered and disappeared. Somehow, inexplicably, Harry knew where he was—Eric was reciprocating what he had done to Harry, although not allowing Harry complete access, and allowing Harry to read his mind.

And in a flash, Harry understood, and he fell backwards onto the surface of his bed with the knowledge. He knew all about Eric's race—the Magi. They were the prevalent race in this world, and they could all do the strange brand of magic that Eric could—none of the Magi used a wand, or even needed one. Yet they were a peaceful people—their world was free of war, and there were hardly even crimes committed, and those were petty crimes like theft, after which the criminal would inevitably break down and return the stolen object, and all was forgiven. The Magi lived in cities high above the earth—Harry would never have believed it had he not been allowed into Eric's mind, but he was currently floating on a continent high above the snowy landscape below. The Magi traveled to the Underworld—as they called it—only occasionally, and Eric had only gone there because his people had sensed a disturbance in magic—which it seemed was what the windows cut through.

Harry learned about the parallel universes as though he had been taught about them since he could walk—as indeed the people of Eric's race had been. Eric's race knew of the other worlds, but had no interest in traveling there themselves, although others from many different worlds had traveled to Eric's. He had even seen people from Harry's world before—other wizards who wandered through one of the windows that were the gateways between worlds until twenty years ago, when they were all closed by angels, which were actually beings made of pure magic—and none of this seemed strange to Harry, but instead familiar, as if he had known it his entire life but not been aware of it.

And then Harry was finally thrown out of Eric's mind, and landed back in his own body on his own bed, significantly calmer, although still incredibly shocked at what was happening to him.

"Holy—bloody hell," whispered Harry, as soon as he had regained control of his vocal faculties.

"Yes, the experience is always unfamiliar to newcomers to our world," said Eric in his matter-of-fact tone. Harry's jaw shot open yet again as the new knowledge settled into his mind. These Magi were most likely more powerful than Harry and Voldemort put together and yet they remained peaceful. They seemed to know beings from all worlds, yet didn't leave their own. It seemed as though their entire existence was contradictory.

"And—what is this place called?" asked Harry weakly, who had given up long ago trying to completely understand what was happening.

"Khiare," said Eric. "Khiare, Atlantis."

"A—Atlantis?" stammered Harry again. At Eric's nod, he repeated his earlier statement. "Bloody hell."

"Atlantis is but a legend in your world," said Eric. It was not a question, but rather a statement of knowledge. "I suppose that something about the way in which our world split off from yours allowed your so-called 'Lost Continent' to remain intact and well in this world."

And suddenly Harry felt a feeling akin to being splashed in the face by a bucket of cold water. He was in a _parallel universe_, sent there by none other than Lord Voldemort, his friends dead, talking to a strange man of a different race on a floating continent named Atlantis...

"Shh. Calm down, Harry," came a voice from somewhere near him, although he couldn't place it. He was breaking out in a cold sweat, and every bone in his body seemed to be rejecting what he had been told.

And then suddenly there was a bright red glow from the man standing next to him, and an amazingly pure warmth spread throughout his entire body, covering him and relaxing him slowly. The shock and sorrow slowly seeped out of his body, and Harry realized with a sudden jolt that it must be some sort of relaxation spell, and Eric must have used it on him before...but it didn't matter. The place he was in was so warm, and the man was so nice...

"That's right, Harry," came the same voice, and out of his panic Harry finally realized it had been Eric who was speaking to him, and he was sweating profusely. "Many otherworlders have the same problems you do when traveling to other worlds, I assure you. And please do not be suspicious of the spell that I just performed—it is simply to calm you down so that you do not hurt yourself or others. There is potential for great magic locked deep within you and the others of your kind, but it is activated solely by emotion, and I would hate for this room to become damaged," said the Magi with a hint of humor in his voice, and Harry knew again that he could trust him.

"So—" asked Harry, once his newfound calm had set in, "so—your race are so powerful. You could easily help us defeat Voldemort, and if you were to do it it would only be to promote peace. And yet you don't, you don't even want to go to other worlds. Please, sir, Eric, come and help us—"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Harry," said Eric, "although many other wizards have asked me the same. Our people have realized that true peace can only occur in the absence of prejudice and hate, and to fight against this Lord Voldemort would require us to hate him, something that would be immensely dangerous."

Harry gave a sudden lurch, and once again the world around him threatened to engulf him. From nearby came the reassuring voice, "Okay, Harry. Go to sleep now. Tomorrow we can talk more."

And Harry didn't need telling twice as he fell into a deep slumber.

- - - -

Harry's sleep was filled with strange dreams, dreams of a battle between him and Voldemort, a strange world where Atlantis was real and a race of extremely powerful wizards built a city in the sky. He supposed when he awoke he would be at Hogwarts, with Ron and Hermione and Ginny trying to wake him up or being worried about him.

"Harry!"

The blackness before his eyes swirled before dissolving entirely. "Okay, Ron, geroff," he managed before opening his eyes and shading his face instinctively with one arm.

But Ron wasn't there; it was Eric. And suddenly the events of the previous day came flowing back into Harry's mind, and he sighed. But for some reason life didn't seem as pointless as the day before—he had a purpose again. Before his friends could truly rest, Voldemort had to die. And Harry was going to make him pay.

"What, Eric?" asked Harry sleepily, and the Magi smiled his trademark grin.

"I have spoken with some others of my race," he said in his matter-of-fact tone. "They have agreed, due to the unusual circumstances of your entrance into this world, to allow you do see the Elder, the one who stands above all others like me."

"Kind of like your leader, then?" asked Harry curiously.

"Exactly," said Eric indulgently, and Harry blanched at being talked to like a ten-year-old, but Eric, who was no longer reading his mind, knew nothing of it. Instead, he simply raised a hand and beckoned to Harry, and Harry climbed out of the bed and followed Eric out of the door of his room for the first time since he arrived.

Harry almost fell into shock again upon entering the hallway that led to his room. The walls were made of what looked like transparent glass, and outside them he could see nothing but a bright blue sky, and something that looked like a garden about four stories beneath him, on a rock outcropping that jutted out into the sky. The strange patterns on the walls and floors grew to full designs and what seemed like murals written in some ancient language—perhaps if Harry had studied Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, he would have recognized them, he pondered as they exited the hallway and entered a much larger room.

The room was enormous. Several other Magi—wearing robes identical to Eric's—went about their business within it. Strange colors were everywhere, in the robes they wore to the designs on the walls to strange plants that Harry found in several corners of the large room.

Eric led Harry through another door, into a much smaller room—smaller than even his bedroom. In it was simply a circular design on the floor, and the walls were extremely plain for the city of Khiare.

But before Harry could open his mouth or even say anything, Eric suddenly grasped his hand and pulled him forward onto the design. A rushing noise filled his ears, although it was not accompanied by any of the pain or squished feelings of Apparition or Portkey travel. Suddenly the room reformed around him—an identical room. But when Eric pulled the door in front of him open, it revealed a completely different set of hallways and rooms, where much fewer amounts of Magi made their ways through the corridors.

"This is the Palace," said Eric, and something about the way he said it made Harry imagine it to have a capital P. Harry was led through a maze of more corridors and rooms, passing something that looked an awful lot like a waterfall and a room filled with the strange-colored plants before entering the largest corridor of all. Designs lined the walls and floor to where they all seemed to blend together and they, instead of the bright colors, became the focus of the hall.

Eric led Harry down the immense hallway, and when they reached the end Harry found a slight pain returning to his legs. Eric raised his hand and knocked twice at the door at the end, then placed his hand in an imprint in the door. A bright flash filled the hallway, and then the door opened, a voice inside saying, "Come in."

The voice seemed incredibly familiar to Harry. But before he could even begin to place it, Eric pulled him into the room, and he found himself in what appeared to be a throne room. But the man sitting on the throne caused Harry to gasp in shock, and move backwards towards the door, muttering, "No...No..."

"What is wrong, Harry?" asked the Elder, and Harry fell to his knees.

"No..."

"Harry, I am the Elder," said the man in a tone as matter-of-fact as Eric's, choosing to ignore Harry's strange reaction to him.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore."

- - - -

**-A/N- **Please review if you're reading, and thanks for reading! I'll try and get another chapter up soon.


	4. The Republic of Heaven

**Disclaimer** – So my second exam is physics, and you'll be treated to a physics disclaimer this time. I only own Harry Potter under the following conditions:

A cannon that applies a force of 100.0 N to propel a cannonball 21.0 m due north in 30 seconds, disregarding air resistance, possesses a power of 100.0 Watts.

And now I will prove that I don't own Harry Potter—

**G**ivens: Displacement: 21.0 m, F: 100.0 N

**U**nknown: Power

**E**quations: P:W/t, W:F(displacement)(cos theta)

W:(100.0 N)(21.0 m)(cos 0)

W:210.0 Joules

**S**ubstitution: P:210.0 J/30 sec.

**S**olution: P:70.0 Watts

See? If I had owned Harry Potter, the power would have equaled 100 Watts, proving that I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N** – That is definitely the strangest disclaimer that I have done. Anyway, thanks to all my reviewers—

**Nimbirosa**- Thanks! But Hermione and Ron aren't dead—maybe you read the earliest draft of the prologue. If you'll read it again, they escaped before the shrine crumbled. I'm honored that you would consider this a good idea, especially since you are an excellent writer yourself.

**Geminia**- Hopefully the plot is developing a little for you with the newest chapters.

**japanese-jew**- You'll find out.

**Lamentit Eternum**- Thanks, but there's already been an HP/HDM crossover called Ron Weasley and the Subtle Knife in the HDM section.

**Never Odd Or even**- The reposts are done; on into completely new material! What do you think of this chapter?

Anyway, it's like 11:00, and I have to go to bed...I'm posting this fast.

- - - -

**Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return**

Chapter Three – The Republic of Heaven

Harry suddenly felt himself grow weak. His legs seemed not to support him anymore, and he fell to the floor, his mind a jumbled mix of half-formed thoughts, nothing seeming to make sense. Albus Dumbledore, alive? And not only alive, but in a parallel universe? Harry wanted to greet his former headmaster exuberantly, to have a long talk with the man to whom he owed so much.

But that wasn't possible, thought Harry suddenly. Because the man in front of him, no matter how much he looked or acted like Dumbledore, was definitely not him. He was the product of a different universe, a different man entirely—Eric had already told him as much. It wouldn't do to get his hopes up.

So Harry simply stared at the long white beard and twinkling blue eyes of the man sitting in front of him. "Erm—hello, sir," he managed to say, pulling himself to his feet. Eric lingered anxiously behind him, waiting to see if he needed any assistance before returning to his place at Harry's side.

"Hello, Harry," repeated Dumbledore, his face impassive, and Harry once again felt an enormous pang of longing for not only his dead Headmaster but the world that he had left behind.

"I can see by your reaction and your thoughts that you had a relationship with my counterpart in your world, and I am sorry for not realizing so earlier," said the Dumbledore before him, and Harry struggled not to think of the man as his own headmaster. The blue eyes twinkled behind the half-moon spectacles. The long white beard flowed down periwinkle robes. Everything about him seemed the same as the Dumbledore Harry knew, and yet he was so completely different in this reality. For one, he was the Elder of a race of magical humans so powerful that they could perform the most complex spells Harry's world had invented without even using a wand, and yet he would not raise a finger to help Harry on his quest to defeat Voldemort.

But he still found it impossible to dislike Dumbledore—his eternal politeness gave him a somewhat grandfatherly air, and Harry had always felt great affection towards the man who had strived to protect him, although some of his efforts had been misguided.

"That's okay, sir. I suppose that you want me to tell you how I came to be here? Oh—you've already read that in my mind, haven't you?" said Harry, somewhat embarrassed for not having realized it sooner.

"Indeed I have, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking at Harry curiously from behind his spectacles. "And yet it is not a tale that one hears every day. You have had a dark wizard after you for your entire life, and you seem to be something of a celebrity in your world—and yet you remain very down-to-earth and humble. You have lived with an abusive family for seventeen years, and yet you show no signs of wanting revenge, beyond the obvious wishing that your parents had never died." Harry shuddered at the amount of information that this Dumbledore had been able to extract from his mind. "You are a very remarkable young man, Harry. And yet there are many things that you do not know, many things that you need to know to defeat this Voldemort. And while we are a peaceful race, I see no harm in giving you information, as it is obvious to me that this Voldemort is the one in the wrong. I shall pull you up a chair so that you may be more comfortable," said the bearded man in front of him, waving his hand and creating one of his trademark poofy armchairs.

"Thank you, Head—sir," said Harry as he sat down, still used to calling the bearded man sitting in front of him 'Headmaster'. "I assume that you have read in my mind the story of the Horcruxes and me and my friends' search for them?" Dumbledore nodded at him politely as he steeped his hands in front of him, and for an instant Harry forgot that this Dumbledore was different and wanted to shout at the man and demand that he remember Harry.

"Well, I thought I was the last Horcrux," said Harry confusedly. "But Voldemort is still alive. I was dying there in the Shrine, and I had destroyed every other one of his Horcruxes as well. So why hasn't he died yet?"

"It is very simple, Harry," replied Dumbledore. "Voldemort has other Horcruxes, Horcruxes that you don't know of. You must not have been the last one; that is why he did not perish when you sacrificed yourself to destroy Ravenclaw's book."

"Well—yeah, I'd thought of that too, a bit, sir," said Harry. "But why was I sent here, then, after I failed to kill him? How did I get to this world?"

"That, too, my boy, is simple," said Dumbledore, "and yet it is the most disturbing part of your most interesting story. Lord Voldemort must have found a way to use magic to travel between the worlds."

"W—what?" asked Harry. "Oh, no..."

"I am afraid so. This is grave news, as I am sure you must have surmised, because not only does Lord Voldemort have the ability to travel between worlds, but he must also possess the knowledge of the great number of worlds and the eccentricities of each. You see, there are some worlds that contain weapons beyond any that your world has ever experienced—I assume that this is Lord Voldemort's intention as we speak."

"Then we have to stop him!"

"I am sorry, Harry. The Magi are—"

"Yes, yes..._sir_. I know. A nonviolent people. But you have to help me somehow! There must be something that you could do!"

"We are helping you as we speak, Harry, in the only way we know how. By telling you everything we know."

"So tell me how to stop him!" shouted Harry, finding a familiar anger towards Albus Dumbledore rising to the surface.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, a slight coldness creeping into his voice. "I have been trying to tell you, Harry. Apparently he has scattered Horcruxes across not only your world, but others as well. This is why destroying the seven Horcruxes in your world and yourself was not enough to stop him. You must find these Horcruxes, Harry, and then kill Voldemort himself yet again, if he has managed to return to a body yet. If not, his spirit will still pose a threat, as it can possess others and will not perish until you destroy all of the fragments of his soul."

"But how do I find all of these soul fragments? There are an infinite number of different worlds out there. I can't search all of them!"

"You need not search every world, Harry. I have detected a large disturbance of magic in Alethia, a world that is quite similar to yours and yet very different in certain ways. Your Voldemort has most likely traveled there."

Harry felt an enormous gratitude towards Dumbledore suddenly—there were too many worlds for him to search, and yet Dumbledore had pinpointed Voldemort's exact location immediately.

"Once you locate him, your job will be somewhat easier. With the destructions of all of his other Horcruxes, Voldemort is most likely gathering all of his remaining soul fragments in order to ensure that they are not found. However, he must have sent you to this world, instead of the one that he was transported to, on purpose. Luckily for you, he did not realize that we in this world have the technology to travel to others."

"So you can—sir—you could send me to this world?" asked Harry, hardly daring to hope.

"Yes, Harry," confirmed Dumbledore, and Harry felt his spirits soar. "But first I must inform you about the world you are about to enter. The inhabitants of this world are all born with a physical representation of their soul, the daemon. Not demons as you have heard of them, but a lifelong friend, a part of yourself, your conscience and guide throughout life. Everyone, every creature in every world that exhibits sentience, or the capacity for free will, has a version of the daemon, and every human has an actual animal representation of it."

"My—my soul?" asked Harry, confused. "But—what does that have to do with anything?"

"Are you aware of the story of the Bible, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, and Harry found himself, if it was possible, more confused.

"The Bible?"

"Yes, Harry. The first humans, as you know, are said to have been named Adam and Eve, and they lived in the Garden of Eden, a paradise beyond human comprehension, until they were hoodwinked by a serpent into eating the forbidden fruit of the apple tree in the center of the garden. When this occurred, they reportedly Fell, and were banished from the Garden of Eden for all eternity."

"But what does that have to do—"

"If you will have patience, Harry, I will be happy to answer all of your questions."

"You see, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice losing its edge in favor of a professorlike objectivity, "the inhabitants of this world have, until recently, been repressed by the tyranny of a corrupt Church. The Magisterium, as it is called, was obsessed with the nature of Dust, their name for a particle—like your physics—that surrounds all sentient creatures. When the people of Alethia go through what you might call puberty, their daemons settle on a specific animal shape. The leaders of the Magisterium noticed that adults, specifically people with settled daemons, have a much larger amount of Dust surrounding them than children before their daemons have settled. An arm of the Church, known as the General Oblation Board (oblation means sacrifice), set out to conduct—experiments—as to the nature of this relationship. They did terrible, terrible things, Harry. They severed the daemons of children from their humans, Harry—I believe it produces the same effect that you see in your world when a person's soul is sucked out by a Dementor."

"The Dementor's Kiss?" asked Harry, shuddering. _Humans_ had done this _to other humans_?

"Yes. These people were eventually chased to their headquarters, a place called Bolvangar, and stopped by a twelve-year-old girl and her daemon. Their names were Lyra and Pantalaimon. She had traveled to the North in order to save one of her friends who had been taken and instead found herself leading her friend to his death. You see, her father, a man named Asriel, was conducting his own experiments, although very much in opposition to the Magisterium's. He found that the burst of energy released at the instant that daemon is severed from human is incomparable to any other form of energy generation. He used the immense amount of energy to open a window to another world from the Aurora Borealis, where the barrier between worlds was the thinnest. Lyra and Pantalaimon followed him into a new world, a world called Cittagazze, the City of Magpies."

"And magpies they were. They had built a tool capable of cutting through the barriers between worlds, and had used it to steal technology and ideas from all the worlds to build a thriving civilization. But a race of beings called Specters, which fed on Dust and the daemon, plagued its inhabitants. The only thing they feared was the Subtle Knife, the knife made from an alloy so powerful that no matter was impervious to its blade. But Lyra and her daemon did not know this. They only desired food and shelter, so they were especially surprised when they encountered a boy from yet another world. Your world."

"This boy was named William Parry. His father had found a window to another world, which in your world is called an Anomaly, and had sent the location to his wife, William's mother. Government agents, the MI5 in your world, were sent after the letters, and William had accidentally killed one of them when he pushed him down a staircase while trying to defend himself and the letters. He then ran away and, by chance, was led to a window near where he lived, in the Oxford of your world. He entered it and was transported to Cittagazze, where he ran into Lyra. Lyra told him of her adventures and asked him where she could find a scholar so that she could learn more about Dust. William led her to a particle physicist of his world named Mary Malone, who was doing research on 'dark matter', or Lyra's Dust."

Harry took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep all of this information straight.

"While Lyra was in William's world, a man by the name of Sir Charles Latrom stole her alethiometer, a device that is fueled by Dust and is used as a type of divination—one may ask it a question and receive the truth in return, hence alethio-, meaning _truth_. Latrom informed her that he would return the alethiometer if William would bring back the Subtle Knife of Cittagazze, which could only be accessed by one whose daemon had not yet settled. William fought an intruder for the knife and received the mark of its bearer in the fight, two missing fingers on the left hand. He was taught how to use the knife to cut into other worlds and then used it to regain the alethiometer for Lyra. However, Lyra's mother, who was a high-ranking member of the Magisterium, followed them and kidnapped Lyra, taking her into a cave hidden in the Himalayas of Lyra's world. While there, Lyra's mother, Marisa Coulter, fed Lyra a type of potion that kept her asleep, and while Lyra slept she dreamt of her dead friend who she had led to her father and a world of the dead where he was now. She vowed to save her friend, and when William rescued her using the knife she told him of her dreams."

"William agreed to use the knife to attempt to access this world of the dead. Accompanied by two Gallivespian spies, a race of miniature humans with poisonous spurs from one of the other countless worlds, William and Lyra entered the land of the dead, where their daemons were ripped from them, as daemons cannot enter the world of the dead. In this world they encountered the ghosts of each and every sentient creature that had ever died in all the worlds."

Harry was speechless. He did not understand much of the story, but if this was true then Sirius and his parents were languishing away in a world that did not sound a great deal like heaven.

"William and Lyra were left speechless by the sight of the ghosts, and while they were there Lyra had an idea—if William could use the Subtle Knife to create an exit from the world of the dead into another world, the ghosts could escape and be a part of the world and of Dust, as daemons did when they died. Do not fear, Harry, if you do not understand me fully," said Dumbledore, and Harry found himself taken aback by the sudden change of subject before Dumbledore continued, "William cut an opening in the fabric of the worlds and created an exit from the world of the dead into a grove in an unknown world. He then cut another window into the world where Lyra's father, Asriel, fought a war against the Authority, an angel who claimed—"

"An _angel_? Erm—sorry, sir."

"That is quite all right, Harry. Yes, an angel, who claimed to have created all other beings. Asriel sought to overthrow the Authority and create a Republic of Heaven in which all creatures were free and equal. The Authority was not the true Creator—in fact, he was only an angel himself, albeit a powerful one. Lyra and William entered this world in search of their lost daemons, but instead they encountered the frail Authority, who had lost almost all of his power to old age, and accidentally killed him. Lyra's parents banded together to put an end to his second-in-command, an angel known as the Metatron, and Lyra and William chased their daemons into a world of creatures who rode on seedpod wheels, creatures known as the _mulefa_."

"Meanwhile, the scientist that Lyra had encountered, Mary Malone, was being led by Dust itself, in a manner not unlike Lyra's reading of the alethiometer, to the same world. Lyra and William were led by the _mulefa_ to Malone, and Malone gave food and shelter to the young travelers. That same night, she encountered the window that William had opened from the land of the dead, and a ghost emerging from it informed her that she should 'tell them stories'."

"Malone told Lyra and William of a time in her childhood when a boy about her age fed her a bite of marzipan. At that moment, Lyra realized that she was in love with William, and the next day, while she and William were searching for their daemons, she fed him a piece of fruit, just as Malone had informed her the boy had done to her. At that instant, the Dust, which had been seeping slowly out of the worlds and into the abyss, was attracted to the young couple and began to nourish the human race once again. But Will and Lyra's newfound love was not to endure, for mere days later they were visited by one of the highest-ranked angels, one named Xaphania. Xaphania told William and Lyra that the Dust had been exiting the worlds through the openings made by the Subtle Knife, and that the knife must be broken. The angels offered to close each window if William and Lyra promised only to allow one to remain open—the window leading out of the world of the dead. And so, after helping to save the worlds from impending ruin, William and Lyra were forced apart."

"Blimey," said Harry. "Those people saved _all_ of the worlds from destruction?"

"Indeed they did, Harry. Their story is known, in some form, in all of the worlds."

"But I've never heard it, sir..."

"But you have heard the previous form of it, I assume? The story of Adam and Eve?"

Harry, dumbstruck, stared blankly at Dumbledore for several moments.

"Ah, as I thought. You see, Harry, Mary Malone's story tempted William and Lyra to do what they would not have done otherwise—fall in love. Mary Malone received a very curious message before she departed to the world of the _mulefa_, Harry—_play the serpent_."

"William and Lyra, young Harry Potter, are the second coming of Adam and Eve. By letting their love for one another become known, they suffered the Biblical Fall, thus being banished from the paradise of youthful innocence into the world of sentience and independence. The church, I fear, were correct in their first assumption—Dust is indeed original sin. But sin, in this case, is not necessarily a bad thing—it led the human race to gain their own free will and saved each of the worlds from imminent destruction."

It took a while before Harry regained his bearings. Mouth agape, he continued to stare at Dumbledore for several moments afterwards before looking away.

"And now, Harry, I shall exercise my power to send you to this world of daemons and armored bears, of witches and shamans, the world of Alethia. I am only sorry that you could not remain longer, but it has been an honor to meet you."

"A—an honor?" asked Harry curiously, remembering the adulation he received for having defeated Voldemort the first time and wondered why this Dumbledore, literally a world away, would do the same.

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling. "You see, you have your own destiny, too, and I have been lucky enough to bear witness to a part of your journey."

"What—"

But Dumbledore had already raised a hand, and now Eric was bowing deeply to Harry. "Goodbye," he said, his eyes losing some of their benevolent twinkle. "I shall be sorry to see you go, Harry Potter. It was extraordinary indeed to play host to you during your stay here."

"Thank you very much, Eric," said Harry truthfully. He then turned to Dumbledore. "And sir—thank you so much, for everything you've done. You have helped me a great deal, just like your counterpart in my world might have done."

Harry was barely aware of Dumbledore's voice responding, "It was nothing at all, Harry," before a bright white light leapt at him out of nowhere and the world around him spun away into oblivion.

- - - -

**A/N** – (Deep sigh) And that's chapter 3. That's 3,000 words in like four hours, so review!


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